


Specter Tail: Guidance

by TheVoidLooksBack



Category: Plague Tale: Innocence (Video Game)
Genre: (like you followed the GPS but it lead you to a sunk bridge, 14th Century, 14th Century France, Abusive Father, Abusive Relationships, Alchemy, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Blacksmith - Freeform, Buff Rodric, Canon Compliant, Domestic Fluff, Dungeons, Everyone (Important) Lives, Family Bonding, Fire, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Forests, Found Family, French Inquisition, Gen, Grieving, Implied/Referenced Torture, Inquisition, Jail, Library, Metaphors, Minor Violence, Nobility, Overcoming Loss, Plague Tale: Innocence, Protective Siblings, Sharing a Bed, Sibling Bonding, Siblings, Tags May Change, Torture, University, Will update tags as story progresses, Windows - Freeform, Wingwoman Melie, alchemist, book burning, found family trope, how to emote, i have honestly forgotten how to describe emotions, incarcerated, save me from my inability to adequately describe faces, so you turned around and tried to find an alternate route and end up taking a nicer scenic route, these kids i tell ya, thieves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-03-26 17:44:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19010707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheVoidLooksBack/pseuds/TheVoidLooksBack
Summary: "The first time he saw the specter, Arthur thought they were an angel"***Will update tags as story progresses***[All characters belong to their respective creators as defined under applicable Copyright Laws and Protection Acts.]





	1. A Herald of the New Age

**Author's Note:**

> I started this story because the idea was an insistent rat, gnawing at my brain and birthing an abundance of plots and scenes. So I wrote it out. It's not at all in part because I feel just a tad like Arthur didn't get the development he could have, and not at all that I feel they deserved a little better. After all, they were living in feudal France during the 14th Century.  
> Anyways, I don't really have a beta for the work, so if you find someone is OOC, please leave a comment.

When he was 11 years old, Arthur LaPointe took to wearing hoods. He wore them so often in fact, that people actually began to call him ‘Chaput’, the ‘hooded one’, joking about his escapades and asking, "Hé Chaput, qu’est-ce que tu caches? / Hey Chaput, what do you hide from?" Even Melie, his twin, would give him the occasional odd look despite knowing exactly what, or rather who he could be hiding from. But with this particular happening and the ever growing presence of the Inquisition, the terror that his father would bring in the late nights was but a candle in the brisk wind to the roaring bonfire of his dilemma. Unless his father found out about him, in which case his fate was sealed in the worst possible way. So, he donned the hood, and resolutely ignored the transparent and pale figure that would unpredictably flicker into being before him.

***

The first time he properly saw the specter, Arthur thought they were an angel. He and Melie had been exploring some ruins when he came across a figure sitting upon half buried foundations, their face upturned to the cloud covered sun, like so many of the plants around them. The sunlight filtered down on them with a nearly tender light upon the regal bones of this stranger’s face, setting to their pale gold hair a shine and glow that their pale skin would not accept. Then with a rustle of wind, the sun broke free, a beam illuminating the stranger in their unearthly glory, and they were gone.

Arthur was helping his mother tend to their garden, when he saw the specter for the second time. While pulling weeds, he looked up, and into the bluest eyes he had ever seen. Arthur froze, eyes round as saucers as he recognized the regal features and the blond hair. “L’ange forestier / the forest angel”, he whispered, making the sign of the cross. The angel, clad in decidedly unangelic clothes of red tunic and black leggings, crouched down. “You can see me?” he asked in unusually flavoured French, looking at him with confusion and relief.  
“You, you’re English?!” Arthur asked, a horrified look spreading across his face.  
“English?”, the angel said, “Well, I suppose I might be considered from those parts, but why did you call me l’ange forestier?”  
Arthur ducked his head, absentmindedly worrying his cuff. “I thought you were an angel when I saw you in the forest, but I guess you’re not if you’re English.  
The angel-man looked at him quizzically. “Why would I not be an angel if I were English?”  
“Everyone knows the English are savage dogs who kill and plunder, and-and are no good!”  
Taken aback, the angel-man quirked an eyebrow. “You’ve met these savage English dogs then?”  
“N-no.” Arthur pouted. “But! Monsieur Fèvre fought them in t-”  
“Arthur!” called his mother as she rushed to his side, “Mon bebe, who are you talking to?”  
“Maman, the angel-man.” Arthur pointed.  
“The angel-man? But mon chou, there is no one else here?” she said frowning, pushing her strawberry blonde hair back under her handkerchief, as if in a bid to see more than row upon tidy row of sprouts.  
“Arthur, was it?” the angel said, idly running a finger over the blooming head of a fennel patch. “You are the first person that has been able to see me, in a really long time.”  
“But Maman, can’t you see him? He’s standing right beside me.”, Arthur said, desperately gesturing towards the figure crouched by his side.  
“In fact”, the angel continued, “ I don’t think anyone has seen me since I died.”

***

That night, Arthur told his mother about l'ange forestier.

“Mon chou,” she sighed, kissing his forehead, “ tell me if you ever see him again, ouais? And don’t tell anyone you saw him. Promise me.”  
Arthur solemnly nodded.  
Running her fingers through his thick strawberry blond hair and with a whispered reminder to say his prayers, his mother tucked him into bed. And huddled next to Melie’s softly slumbering form, Arthur fell asleep swaddled in the warmth of his mother’s love. Early the next morning, he awoke to Melie’s horrified screams, as Inquisition soldiers dragged their mother from their home for being a ‘witch’. With her long strawberry blond hair waving in the wind, they threw her into a rickety cart filled with despair-filled faces. Arthur never saw her again.

That day he lost the warmth of innocence and his mother, just as he gained a harsh new reality and a devastating secret. The loss of their mother spurred on their father’s drunken rages, until they happened on a near daily basis. And all the while, the specter would appear, each time a little more solid, a little more there, a little less confused and a whole lot more chatty. At first it was small things, an ill concealed smile, a vacant expression, a quickly repressed mumble, not enough for him to get but a few odd looks from the townsfolk. But suspicions grow, and the specter would not cease. He would try to talk to him, asking incessant questions and making jokes, trying to get him to respond. Arthur strived, slowly growing mad with the pressure to keep his secret, while struggling not to blurt out the first thing on his mind. And he succeeded. Until, after a particularly long monologue on the merits of not stealing, Arthur could take no more, and yelled “SHUT UP!”. His relief was short lived, his disturbance taking place during one of his father’s blessedly less drunken lessons. But the beating he got was enough to shut up the specter, and that night Arthur drifted into unconsciousness alone, sweet silence his only companion.

From that day onwards, Arthur wore a hood. At first it was to hide the prizewinning black eye that bloomed on his face, but with the added benefit of not seeing the specter, he kept it on. Not that the specter was doing much of anything while Arthur was in public. However while Arthur was alone, the specter was a font of knowledge and emotions. So very many emotions. Sometimes it would scare Arthur, the wrath this spectral form contained. At times, the specter would seem almost solid enough to touch, solid enough to met out his wrathful justice. Then he would look into Arthur’s scared face, and fade into himself, the chaos hidden behind a well crafted mask of arrogance. And with an nearly discernable sigh, they would return to the lesson. Like this they continued, falling into a pattern, a routine that both needed as much as they would avoid admitting.

Days turned into weeks, turned into months, and the length of the specter’s visits slowly but surely lengthened. More often than not, Arthur woke to find the specter sitting by the loft’s tiny window, gazing out into the garden below, a distant look in his eyes. Never more than in those quiet moments, did the specter seem like the angel Arthur once thought him to be. Ethereal in the light glow of dawn, as regal and stately as a king should be, a resolute guardian against the horrors of the night. In those moments Arthur could almost admit that he is glad to have met the specter, as irritating as he is. A reassuring presence at his back, an additional scout on missions, the specter proved invaluable to avoiding his father’s temper and the townsfolk’s suspicions. But most of all, the specter kept watch over Melie. A precocious child, Arthur’s twin was a bright and witty girl with their father’s knack for picking locks and their mother’s looks and smile, but since that fateful morning she had become withdrawn. Distant, a mere ghost of her former self, she drifted through the days and dangerously close to their father’s rage. By the time summer bloomed it’s first hurrah, the tension was thick and heavy, their father’s already short patience wearing silk thread thin. The specter was shadowing Melie nearly all the time now, a benevolent presence and alarm for trouble who grew more concerned with every passing day.

“Arthur, she needs help”, the specter said, as Melie worked yet again on her lockpicking set. Arthur frowned, tired eyes gazing sightlessly into the fire as he mindlessly stirred the stew. “Melie is strong. She, she will be fine with some time”, Arthur whispered.  
“Arthur, I had a sister too”, he smiled, nostalgia and grief warring in his eyes. “She was one of the strongest people I knew, witty, generous, cunning. She was selfless and noble, always ready to defend that which she believed worthy...She would drive me insane. If anyone had claim to being an angel, she did. And I love”, he swallowed, blinking back tears, “loved her so much.”  
He grew quiet, his image fading as time reclaimed his memory once again. Just before he faded completely into the ether, he looked into Arthur’s eyes, his gaze sharp and focused, with an uncomfortable edge of desperation.  
“Don’t collect regrets like I’ve done- don’t leave the goodbyes until later, there may not be enough time. I couldn’t- my sister needed help, and by the time I realized that, it was too late. Arthur”, his form was little more than sunbeams against familiar soot stained walls, his voice a whisper, “don’t hesitate to protect those you care for.”

And then he was gone.

Arthur was still mulling over the specter’s words when the door to their small hut was flung open, the shadowy figure of their father briefly posed upon the threshold. The LePointe patriarch staggered in, the stench of cheap ale and sweat clinging to him like a lover’s embrace. His lanky frame flailed about like a willow branch in a strong breeze, as in a brilliant demonstration of balance he toed off his boots, his cloak and satchel discarded in a heap by the door. Falling into the sole chair of their abode, he gestured to Arthur. He hurried to set out a bowl of the stew and ushered Melie upstairs, least she be targeted by their father’s rage. “Boy.” Arthur froze, hand still stretched out for the discarded garments, as a chill ran down his spine. “Com’e h’sere.”  
Arthur gently picked up the cloak, folding it over his arm as he made his way back to his father’s side. His father gazed into the bowl, disinterestedly gazing at the peas and fennel that floated in the murky liquid.  
“What is this?”  
“It’s a stew, Pere.”

With a nearly lazy lethalness, his father caught his hood and slammed his face into the bowl. For several moments, Arthur struggled and thrashed, desperately fighting the hold on his head and the liquid that forced its way up his nose and down his throat. Feeling blessed unconsciousness approaching, Arthur slumped, hoping against all hopes that his father would let go. With a yank, Arthur was freed from his father’s hold, relief coursing through his bones as he retched up all that he had mistakenly inhaled. Still heaving and seeing spots, Arthur heard Melie’s voice beyond the ringing in his ears. Looking up, his blood ran cold, the short lived relief turning sour as he took in the sight of Melie, withdrawn quiet Melie, screaming in the face of their father. Desperate, he struggled to his feet, as his father reached out to grab her. With a flash, the honed kitchen knife was swung through the air, slicing through their father’s palm, her small hand drenched in blood. The LaPointe patriarch, bulging veins protruding in a flushed face, his lips drawn back in a snarl, darted forward, his hand coiled into a fist. Melie slammed into Arthur, keeling over from the punch to her gut, as the blade went flying from her hand. Picking up the blood slicked blade, their father staggered over to the pair, a sinister smile stretched across his face.

“Well, well, the little bit’ch has some fire, heh? Is’ s’about fuckin’ time you sstopped a’cting like s’ome lovelorn hussy. But to think you, you’d attack me, your father.” He kicked Melie, tossing her onto her back.  
“You’d have nothing without me, bit’ch! I’ve been tooo s’oft on you, like I was’ with your cunt of a mother. The fuckin witch.”  
He dropped down, a knee on Melie’s chest, his free hand grasping her face.  
“Well, this ‘sis what happens when you disobey me”, he said placing the knife to her face.

Melie’s muffled screams causing his ears to ring anew, Arthur scrambled to get up, his arm getting caught under the cloak. Swiftly untangling himself, Arthur ran behind the pair. Then, in one continuous movement, he wrapped the cloak around his father’s head, pulling it taunt, while easing him off of Melie. Desperately scrabbling at the cloth, their father released Melie, her eyes a steely venomous blue in a bloody face. She watched till their father went limp, still in his oversized headwrap.

“Melie”, Arthur gently began.  
“We should kill him.”, Melie said, staring coldly at their father while she gingerly cleaned her cut.  
“Melie, we can’t kill him-” Arthur sighed as he wrapped and bound the older man.  
“Why not?” She gently prodded her lip,wincing in pain.  
“-now. We can’t kill him right now. But-”, Melie leveled a glare at Arthur.  
“He almost killed you, you arse”, her voice briefly wavers as her eyes stay resolutely fixed on his hood, while she flicks off dried peas.  
Arthur scrubbed vainly at his face, thin pieces of dried stew flaking off. “Which is why he’s now tied up. But are you feeling well?”  
Melie nodded as she pulls out their mother’s needles, gingerly cradling them. Nostalgia gently flittered across her face, soon shuttered behind a steely determination.  
“I still think we should kill him, at least throw him in a wolf trap.”  
Arthur’s hands slowly still mid-wash as he mulled over the idea. With a determined set to his eyes, he nods as he dried off his hands.  
“But after”, he gestured to her face as he picked up a needle and carefully passed it through the flame.


	2. The Nightmare Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The LaPointe's and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day I

The last sight he had of her, was her long strawberry blond hair dancing in the breeze.  
With a start, Arthur awoke bereft of breath and filled with loss, sharp and jagged as obsidian. Like a dam had unknowingly been breached, tears came to his eyes, unbidden and relentless. It had been many seasons since the Inquisition had taken his mother away, but the strength of the emotion that overcame him was as strong as it was the day he lost her. At 16 years of age, a man fully grown, Arthur thought he had come to terms with her death, obsessively crushing the childlike belief that she may still be alive and glancing over thoughts of her. But the increased presence of the Inquisition was bringing back all those memories, that even years later Arthur was still too raw to remember. And unable to handle the emotions and the stress, he curled into himself, turning his head into his pillow, and cried.  
A familiar chill settled over him as the specter settled beside him and began to stroke his hair. It was the faintest of touches, no more than the slightest brush of air, but the near forgotten reassurance of the parental gesture soothed. Arthur cried and sobbed, until the pain he had repressed and shoved away was easier to bear. Then when the tears dried up, a thoroughly exhausted Arthur floated into dreamless unconsciousness, the specter’s hand still slowly moving through his hair.

***

The sensation of fingers slowly working their way through his hair gently reeled him back to the land of the living. Floating in between fully waking and the warmth of sleep, Arthur lazed in the attention, as the fingers scratched a particularly delicious spot. The fingers traced a pattern, light and ticklish, then tugged harshly. Arthur grunted, his eyelids fluttering weakly in the brightness of the firelight. Finally opening them a silver of a crack, Arthur irritably gazed up, and into the deep blue eyes of his sister.  
“Rise and shine, brother dearest”, she sung, her fingers still working through his hair.  
With an inelegant grunt, Arthur closed his eyes. Then flew open when her hands tugged yet another area of his hair. Batting her hands away, Arthur pulled his hood back on.  
“Will you stop and let me have some peace, Melie!?”  
“With your hood on all the time, your hair has become a true rat’s nest. All I’m doing is trying to make sure actual rats aren’t nesting in there already”, she said, a mischievous grin dancing at her lips, her scar pulled along like a reed in the wind.  
Arthur pulled his hood down further, groaning, as the specter laughed.  
“She’s right you know”, he said, eyes sparkling with amusement, “If you walk around with no hood and your hair like that, you may very well pick up a bird family or two. And instead of ‘Chaput’, they’ll be calling you ‘L’Arbre/The Tree' or ‘Le Hêtre/The Beech', or maybe ‘Ѐpouvantail/Scarecrow' would fit better?”  
Arthur shot him a nasty glare, only serving to further amuse the specter.  
“If anyone’s calling me anything”, he grumbled, “it will be ‘Elegast’.”  
Melie, having overheard while tending her lockpicks, snorted. “A common thief to a king of thievery? Ooh my, how you have risen in the world, Chaput. Or should I call you my liege lord Arthur?”  
Arthur burst into laughter as the specter, slack jawed and bug-eyed, stared into the distance, almost as if some great secret of the world had been unveiled to him.  
Still chuckling, Arthur headed for the ladder, picking up a hunk of bread and layering it with slices of leftover cheese and ham.  
“Will you be needing anything, Princess Ѐmelia?”, he sketched an exaggerated bow. At Melie’s outraged squawk, Arthur raced up the ladder, the specter trailing behind.  
“A better name!”

***

The afternoon was well spent scouting the surprisingly barren town, the specter in tow. As he ducked into his favourite of the local dive bars, he was greeted with the warm stench of slow cooking stews, thick ale, and the familiar roar of a friend.

“Chaput!”, broad arms swept around his shoulders, gently crushing his face into a muscled chest, “where have you been, you cunning dog? And where is that lovely lass you were last with?” His companion wiggled his brows, his broad grin bright in his trim black beard. “I hope she didn’t tire you out too much mon ami.”  
With a terse smile, Arthur extricated himself from the embrace. “She’s my sister, you oaf.”  
In an act fit for the stage, Arthur’s friend clutched his heart, faux fainting against a nearby pillar. “You mean to tell me, you, scrawny Chaput, are the brother of the beautiful lass? That vexatious vixen, the absolute vision? The very same girl you were with two nights ago by the bakery?”  
Hailing down some ale, Arthur sat. “Ouais, Zach, she is my sister.”  
Sliding onto the bench, with a trencher somehow already in front of him, Zach leaned forward,  
“Then you won’t mind if I”, he leered, “make her acquaintance?”  
The specter reached across the table and smacked his hand into Zach’s trencher, “Yes. I do mind. Very much so.”  
Stifling a smile, Arthur deadpanned, “Do you have dishonorable intentions towards my sister, Zacharias?”  
Zach leaned back, waving his hands “Not at all Arthur, it’s just a shame such a beautiful flower is being hidden away from the world!”  
Arthur smiled.  
“Then I’m fine with you making her acquaintance”, his smile turns wicked. “However, it isn’t me you should be worried about.”  
“No?”, Taking a bite of his stew, Zach screwed up his face.  
“Indeed.” Arthur sipped his ale, watching Zach pick at his cooled stew, the swirling fat just beginning to congeal. The specter pulled back his hand, a smug look on his face as Zach’s face contorted through a series of curious expressions while swallowing the slimy food. Finally conceding, Zach pushed away the trencher.

“Zach, what happened?”  
“Hmm?”, he quirked a brow as he drained his tankard.  
Arthur gestured at the empty room.  
“Ahh, mon frere, where have you been the past couple of years?” His voice lowered to a hush, barely audible in the quiet room.  
“It’s the Bite. More and more are getting sick, people are getting scared. Whispers of a coven of vampires are going around. The seigneur/lord organized strict watches to keep it from coming to the manoir/(country) manor, but alas la cherie Lysendé was touched by the Bite.” He absentmindedly rubs the skin between his thumb and finger. “Came to her room and bit her in the night. He has banned all from the room, save the healers. Turned out half his own swords for the Inquisition’s butchers too.” Zach grimaced.  
“Surely it’s not that bad”, Arthur said, painful memories of his own floating to the forefront of his mind.  
Zach laughed, a dull hopeless bark. “Arthur. My dear sweet Arthur. The tension has been slowly building for a long while now, but it’s near the breaking point. People are turning on each other. There’s been 3 burnings in the past 2 weeks, and barely anyone roams the town at night for fear of being spirited away. Which was part of the reason I wanted to see you.” He looked at Arthur, the roguish grin and mischievous glint gone as if they had never been. “I have a proposition to make. In exchange for all of the information I provided you.”  
Arthur carefully placed his tankard back on the table. “Information I hardly asked for. And I already paid for the information I did ask for”, he looked up, eyes firm. “My debt is paid.”  
Zach leaned forward, the smallest of smirks gracing his lips. “Not yet it’s not. I’ve yet to make the acquaintance of that sister of yours.”  
The specter circled the table, coming to a stop behind Zach as he flickered into one of his emotional states. Arthur frowned.  
“Zacharias, you asked about the girl I was with two days ago. I in turn asked about the state of the town. It was you who gave more than I asked for. The debt is paid.”  
“Well, I don’t consider the debt paid for in full until I get to meet this charming lass before sunrise. And I may not survive the morning.”  
At Arthur’s quizzical look, he explains, “The English swine have made it down to Bornègre, and you know I can’t disappoint my clientele. Will you do this one sinner a last kindness before he heads off to war?”  
Zach pouts, hands piously folded close to his heart, as he peers out from under his long dark lashes.  
Somber and watchful, the specter sighs, genuine pity in his eyes. “He’s even more of a foolhardy idiot than I thought”, he says returning to Arthur’s side. An exasperated smile trembling at his lips, Arthur tilted his head in silent agreement with the specter as he took in Zach’s act. With a sigh he got up, and turned to Zach.  
“I don’t control my sister. If she wants to meet you, she will show up at the crossroads at dusk. But regardless of whether she shows up, the debt is paid in full.”  
At Zacharias’ nod, Arthur strolled out of the dive bar and into the dying light.

***

“He what?” Melie turned around, staring at Arthur in dumbfounded amazement.  
“Yeah, he wants to meet you”, Arthur ran a restless hand through his hoodless hair, “Says that would fulfill the payment he requires for his services.”  
Melie is still staring at him in disbelief, her expression a facsimile of the specter’s expression earlier in the day. “But all he did was give you information?”  
He quirked an eyebrow. “Zach is an information broker. That’s what he does Melie. Though if you don’t want to go, that’s fine too-”  
“What other information did he give you?”, Melie asked as she slid her satchel on.  
Arthur momentarily froze, “Not much. Anyways, the girl he thinks is you is actually one of the travelling merchants who were in town a couple of days-”  
“Wait Èsmé? Marinette, or was it Marigold? Or do you mean Christine?”  
“-ago. Wait, what? No, I mean Irene. But that means you can’t be seen with me, otherwise, well, he sorta has a thing about lies- his business running on truths and all.” Grabbing their packs, Arthur started filling them. “In any case, we gotta leave.”  
“Why?”, she asked as she removed their money cache from it’s hiding spot.  
He sighed. “The Bite, as he called it, is making the rounds over here, and the Inquisition presence is only going to get stronger. People are scared, Melie. And scared people that don’t leave their houses are no good to us.”  
She sighed tiredly, separating the money cache into separate pouches and shoving them into different objects. Passing him his share, she took over organizing the packs.  
Arthur packed their food into two handkerchiefs, handing her one. “The sickness-”  
“Where to next?”, she quickly interrupted, slipping the packet into her worn pack and pulling it on.  
Pulling on his own, Arthur doused the fire.  
“The village ruins.”

***

The specter caught up to them just before dawn outside of Guyenne. They had been travelling on forest trails, avoiding the patches of lights set up at regular intervals and the patrols that roamed the roads.  
“Arthur! You’re safe!” he said, full of relief. “You better carry a torch if you have to go any farther,  
Arthur stilled, signalling Melie to stop, his senses hyperfocusing on the smallest breath of wind. Something was wrong.  
In the distance a thunderous sound could be heard, like a rock slide, or the roar of a dragon, but the sky was sparse of clouds for miles around. Then barely impercitable tremors began, gradually growing in size as the noise grew louder. The specter stopped, his pale face stark in the moonlight, as his eyes grew wide and filled with fear.  
“Run.”  
“What?”, Arthur looked at him, his stomach slowly working itself into knots, as his heart dropping into his belly at the look on his face.

As the very ground shook under them, the specter yelled “RUN!!” and with a ghostly hand pushed him forward. Arthur stumbled forward, pulling Melie with him, just as the ground where they had been moments prior exploded upwards, showering them with dirt, detritus, and rats. Like an oily rampaging river of fur and gnashing teeth, the horde flowed after them. Legs pumping and chests heaving, they dodged and weaved, avoiding the erupting spouts of the beasts. They headed straight for the road, a bright beacon in the dark night, til the oily swarm erupted from the bowels of the earth smack dab in the middle it.

Melie dragged him on, urging him alongside the road as Arthur froze. He could feel the breathlessness closing in, suffocating him, just as the ranks of rats drew ever nearer. “GO LEFT!” yelled the specter and Arthur reigned in his rising panic, heeding his call. Neck and neck with Melie, he ran, the screams of the soldiers following after them. “Downed tree”, he leapt, “Right!”, he swerved, mindlessly following the specter’s directions. Until finally, the specter called, “River ahead!”.  
Arthur could hear the roar of the river from where they were, and knew exactly how broad it was (too large to jump), how fast it was (too fast), but knew that it was their only hope. Clearly the specter had the same idea as he yelled, “JUMP!” Arthur tensed, fighting the urge to stop, and leapt. Only to be dragged back, Melie clinging to his arm with a death grasp despite her evident exhaustion. During the race for their lives, she had been silent, letting him take the lead, but now she looked as terrified as he felt.  
“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!?!”, she screamed at him, her nails digging into his arm where she held on.  
“IT’S THE ONLY WAY”, he screamed back, the specter restlessly watching the horde of deep black drawing ever nearer. Suddenly he turned, and with a determined look, ran towards them. The briefest sensation of cold, and then they were falling, straight into the frothing depths of river.  
“WH-” was the last sound Arthur heard before everything was lost, the frothy roar overtaking his senses.

***

The sensation of being cold and cradled against a broad chest woke a disoriented Arthur. Spluttering, he coughed out water as he was gently set on the sandy river bank, his equally sodden and unconscious sister lying beside him, looking far too still. Desperate, he reached for her, and feeling the warmth of her skin and the faint brush of her breath on his hand, the tension left him. With nothing left to hold him awake, he fell into unconsciousness, the early morning sky painting pretty pictures behind his eyes.

***

He awoke a second time when the bright light of the afternoon sky became too much for him to bear. Turning on to his side, he cuddled into the warm body beside him, desperately trying to hide from the light, and ended up getting smacked in the face. Opening his eyes, he glared into his sister’s equally baleful eyes. “WHat the fuck Melie?” he grumbled, trying to hide his eyes in his hood, which he found had been taken off. He stiffly got up, and found it sitting on a nearby rock, with all of their outerwear.  
“I should be saying that you fuckin arsehole”, she too got up and stared at their things, neatly lined up in the sunshine, their packs sitting unmolested at their literal feet. “You almost got us killed, and then think I’m gonna be okay with that? And furthermore-”  
“Oh god, there’s a furthermore”, Arthur groaned as he pulled off his leggings, replacing them with dry ones from his pack, and donned a new undershirt.  
Melie’s glare intensifies. “Furthermore, you took off the wet outer clothes, but couldn’t be bothered to put dry clothes on? Or atleast to wake me up, so I can change into dry clothes? What happens if a vampire sees me and thinks I’m extra juicy from my deathly pallor and rosy cheeks?? WH-”  
“Wait”, Arthur looked up from strapping on his lockpicks, “you didn’t take the wet clothes off?”  
“No, you did”, she glared, replacing her wet breastband with a dry one and tying it in place. Slipping into her tunic, she looked at him “You pulled me out of the river, pulled off the wet clothes, and retrieved the packs.” She squinted at him, “You did, didn’t you? That’s why all our stuff is still here, and nothing’s gone, right?”

Arthur carefully weighed his words. On one hand, he knew someone pulled, no, carried him out of the water. And he had the irrational belief that they were trustworthy, else why would all their things be in one piece and their bodies unharmed, save the river inflicted injuries? But Melie didn’t know that, and he didn’t think she’d like it if he told her. Not that he could blame her, with all the things they’ve seen, the shit they’ve done. He could say that he did save them, but would he lie to his sister? Would that make things better? Or would it just be another thing that blew up in his face?

“Arthur, say something”, her tone taking on a higher pitch. Arthur deliberated some more, then said, “I don’t remember how I got on the riverbank, least of all how I ended up without my clothes”. He finished strapping on his knives and picks, then donned his overcoat. “I do remember feeling cold, but that was probably from being wet during autumn, and”, he strapped his belt on, “I remember being carried. But I didn’t see their face.” He ran his hands through his hair, the sensation oddly smooth, before tucking his hood through his belt. “Though, I do remember seeing you.”  
“Yeah?” Masie stilled, her leather greaves partially tied.  
“Yeah”, he nodded, taking her hand and tying the laces shut. “You were pulled out first, and you were knocked out and still wearing everything.”  
“Oh”, she furrowed her eyebrows, chewing on her lip. “Then who saved us?”  
Done with the hand, Arthur slipped her greaves onto the other hand, watching her carefully. “I don’t know. Maybe it was a kind hunter?” He looked around the clearing, noticing a distinct lack of specter.  
Melie laughed in disbelief. “A kind hunter? Surely you meant to say Bayard, or Jean de l’Ours/John the Bear? Or maybe it was a kind fae who was enchanted by my fierceness?”  
Finished with her greaves, Arthur snorted as he slipped on his shoes. “Who’s to say? Unnatural things roam these lands”, he shuddered, remembering the events of last night.  
Melie rolled her eyes, bumping into him as she slung her pack on. “Do you think the hideout will be ok?”  
Rolling his shoulders, he settled his pack in place. With one last glance for the wayward specter, he turned to Melie, and grimaced. “I hope so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More fun facts~!
> 
> Elegast, according to Wikipedia, is an elfen spirit rumored to be the King of Elves (also known as Oberon) and a heroic robber, from the Dutch poem 'Karel ende Elegast' -or a variant thereof in any number of the European adaptions, 'Chanson de Basin' (a lost manuscript), and 'Vie de Charlemagne' being two such members. Apparently he takes the Roman(?) emperor, Charlemange, on a wild goose chase.
> 
> Bayard, was a magical bay coloured horse with the typical bay markings capable of accommodating any number of riders, the power of speech, and in one tale was supposed to have been sentenced to death from drowning by Charlemange (Elegast) but fled into the woods, never to be seen again. The minivan of the Middle Ages, who quite literally chauffeured 4 brothers across the land to accomplish some absurd tasks set by none other than, Charlemange, who with every story, gets more and more bitter.
> 
> Jean de l’Ours an old tale about a gorgeous half man half bear blacksmith with long luscious locks and amazing strength who, in a nutshell, is the one kid who ends up doing all the work in the group project because everyone is useless. He defeats giants, visits the underworld, and rescues 3 princesses. He then gets betrayed by the background party members who contributed nothing but the saddest coup, escapes the underworld, proves the backstabbing party members backstabbers, and marries a princess. All in all, a pretty good end for a magical bear blacksmith.
> 
> Anyways, the plots and variations thereof can be found on Wikipedia, so please read them, because I know I forgot stuff.  
> As always, the chapters are never beta read, so lemme know if something is OOC or misspelt.


	3. Valiant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life loves to steamroll, just as you think you're safe

Warily watching for more abnormal creatures, the twins arrived at their hideout just as the sun began it’s westerly descent. As luck would have it, the river had deposited them a mere few yards upstream of the village ruins. Guarded by an ancient mill made of sturdy wood, the village was well guarded from unfriendly wanderers approaching from the river. And with nearly impassable thickets of wild grass and briar growing in the forest, the locals rarely ventured deep into the forest, for fear of disturbing the spirits who were rumored to haunt the place. As such, it had become the perfect hideaway for Arthur and his sister. They would come out here whenever they could, the specter their ever present shadow, to play, relax, and hone their skills. But those days were long gone, and the specter was nowhere to be found. Arthur and Melie heaved the trap door open, brushing off the obstructing foliage. Arthur peered into the cellar, and then glanced back at Melie.  
“Well?” she cocked an eyebrow, “What are you waiting for? Are you going down or not?”  
“I am”, he frowned, “it’s just,”  
She popped her head through the opening, “Just?”  
“The r-rats.” Arthur swallowed.  
Melie sighed, and got up to rummage in her pack. Pulling out a flint, she built a little nest of dry twigs and set them a flame. Seeing what she was doing, Arthur passed her a sizable branch. With the branch aflame, Melie walked back to the door and tossed the branch down, the fire sputtering out, but not before briefly illuminating the room. “See?”, she looked at him, “Everything’s ok, no rats! Now go.” She patted his back, and sat back expectantly.  
“If all’s fine, why aren’t you the one going down then?” he grumbled, hesitantly climbing down the ladder.  
“It was your turn to choose the hideout, therefore it’s your responsibility to make sure it’s safe.” She leaned back, and smiled, squinting through the sunlight at him. “I’ll keep the fire going for you, so get going!”  
And then, for all intents and purposes, she went to sleep.

Arthur edged down the ladder, ears tuned for the slightest squeak, the faintest rumbling, his pulse pounding, and thought not for the first time how different this would be were the specter here. With the specter, Arthur wouldn’t have to worry about accidentally getting set upon by rats. But now, he had to brave the dark space, terribly illuminated by what sunshine could reach the cellar floor. Arthur peered into the shadows, the bright sunlight illuminating the furniture in muted and dull tones, the few reflective surfaces bravely shining against years of dust and grime. With both feet firmly placed on the ladder, Arthur reached for the nearby lantern, the half melted candle inside a beacon in the twilight. He grasped blindly in the near darkness for the lantern that eluded his grasp, until finally, it slid into his palm. Triumphant in his victory, Arthur brought it closer, only to make out the twitching nose sitting in the lamp bed. With a stifled shriek, Arthur shook the rodent off, and scrambled back up the ladder, lamp desperately caught in his hand.

“What?! What happened?!?” Melie said, crouched with a lit torch by the door, a dagger in her hand, as Arthur crawled through the door, the candle still miraculously contained within the lamp. “Rh..rha…”, he gasped, heaving for breath. “RATS?!?” Melie exclaimed, “THOSE BASTARDS!” And with that, Arthur utterly horrified, watched as his twin, in an odd fit of rambunctiousness, dived down the ladder, torch held aloft like a flaming sword.  
After what felt like eons condensed into minutes, Melie popped back up. Looking no less for wear, and with a serene calmness, she climbed out and sat down. Then took in a deep breath, and burst out laughing. Large heaving laughs, the kind that shook her entire frame, wild enough that it verged on hysteria. Stupefied, Arthur could only wonder as to the cause of this reaction. And so he waited, until she could speak. “Arthur”, she giggled, “Go down.” At his hesitance, she chuckled, “Nothing down there will bite you-much.”

Lighting the lamp, Arthur headed into the cellar yet again, a halo of light his only protection. Still on the ladder, he replaced the lamp, and then stopped short as he saw the mouse nest partially hidden behind the beams. Sighing, he grabbed a candle, and went about lighting the others.

As he climbed back up, the cellar fully lit and free of rodents, natural and unnatural, he was greeted with Melie’s beaming face. “Did-” she began.  
“Mice, it was mice”, he huffed, “‘I got scared of a teeny tiny mouse.’ Now will you get down here?”  
“Of course Elegast”, she mock bowed, “Melie the Ferocious shall protect you from the fearsome mice!”  
Still chuckling, she scattered the ashes of the fire, and climbed down.

***  
Later that afternoon, after suitably preparing their hideout for their stay, they headed out. As they headed to the nearby village, they heard a distant thundering and clashing. Arthur and Melie crept nearer, and discovered a village in ruins. People were lying on the bloodsoaked ground, beaten and broken, as a terrified tethered horse trampled over them, eyes wild with fear as if the Mesnée d'Hellequin (Old French : "household of Hellequin" a.k.a The Wild Hunt) was nipping at their heels. There were doors ripped off their hinges, the stalls emptied of the animals they should have contained. Not ones to be above grave robbing, Arthur and Melie crept into the village, as silent as the wraiths that surely haunted the place. 

Not for the last time, Arthur wished for the added protection of the specter, as he crept into a sturdily built barn. Peering into an empty horse stall, Arthur came upon a girl, not a day older than they were. Her dress, a well woven woolen shift, was ripped and stained from the neck down, her blood thick and clumpy where it pooled, and hidden, just barely peeking out of her pocket, was a telltale shine. Saying a prayer for the girl’s soul and to keep her wraith from haunting him, Arthur gently grabbed and pulled the rosary, the glass beads shimmering in the dim light. They continued wandering the village, collecting food and other items that had been left behind by the mauradering forces, and saying the occasional prayer for the departed souls. By the time they cleared the village, the sky had grown darker, the sun painting the mist in a hazy gold. “We should find the other battleground.” Melie suddenly said, as she secured her stash in her pack.  
Arthur glanced at her as he handed her half a loaf of fragrant nutty bread they had found hidden in a basket. “Why? That’s just asking for more trouble.”  
“Profit, Chaput. The dead have no need for nice boots, or well made tunics, may they find peace”, she signed a cross, Arthur quickly following suit. “Besides, from the amount of noise they were making, there’ll probably be a lot of loot lying around, so quick profit.”  
Seeing the hesitance in his face, Melie smiled, “Come along Chaput, the sooner we get there, the quicker we can leave.”  
With a wary glance at the remaining sunlight, and a heavy sinking feeling, Arthur and Melie followed the wide trail of carnage into the trees.  
***  
They came out on the other side to a veritable sea of bodies. Here and there, little sparks of light bobbed and weaved their ways through the waves of carnage, sparking into larger stationary beacons against the encroaching darkness. “I thought you said the warfront was up at Bonegre?” Melie whispered in a hushed voice.  
Arthur swallowed. “At least that’s what Zach told me. H-how did they get all the way down here?”  
“Nevermind that”, she said as she nudged him forward, “we’re losing daylight. Keep watch for the soldiers.” She scurried forward, her feet padding lightly on the muddied ground.

Arthur followed Melie as she headed deeper into the battleground, carefully keeping an eye on the lights. A mist had risen, making the mounds of bodies appear almost as if they belonged to a mythical beast that guarded the aqueducts, the disembodied lights were the many eyes it saw with. Pocketing a ring he snatched from a soldier’s hand, Arthur froze, as a familiar cold breeze washed over him, the glow from a torch growing nearer. Ducking out of sight, Melie close behind him, the soldier passed within inches of their hiding spot, Arthur should’ve felt fear, adrenaline, that electric cocktail of exhilaration, terror, and calm, but in that moment, he felt relief so strong he could have cried. For standing in front of him, looking absolutely unearthly in the setting sun, the glow of the torch light diffusing gently into the mist, stood the specter. His hair glistened, as if the very strands were spun from gold, his eyes glowing a deep blue, he stood tall and steady, a pillar of support Arthur never thought he would feel the loss of so keenly. 

With a shuddering exhale, Arthur stepped towards the specter, a weight lifting off of his shoulders, as Melie came out from behind him. “That was a close one wasn’t it?” she remarked, shouldering her substantially heavier pack. “I think it’s about time we go. Wouldn’t want to be caught by the English curs.” She let out a breathless laugh.  
“Yeah”, Arthur replied, still staring at the specter, as he gazed off into the distance with an intense concentration on is face. The specter frowned, before turning to him, “You two are courting disaster like this. Don’t rob graves. Especially with the Bite out and about after dark.” He huffed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Melie tugged on Arthur’s arm.  
“Arthur, let’s go”, she whispered, pulling on his arm.  
“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming”, he said as he kept pace, the specter keeping pace with him. 

They kept to the cleared paths, darting from shadow to growing shadow as the light faded. With a growing trepidation, Arthur crept forward, a frantic urgency making him dart across paths and hurry Melie along. They had made it nearly all the way to the edge of the field when with a crisp snap, the growing darkness came alive with the chattering of rats, writhing and lunging at the small party. As one, the twins raced to the nearest beacon, the fiery glow both their saviour and their doom. They darted from fire to fire, following unwary soldiers, and making their own misshapen torches and hoping that they were not caught. All the while the specter scouted, providing helpful tips and not so helpful comments on their graverobbing ways. They were well into the night, and the specter’s tried and true list better career paths, when they came upon the edge of the field.

Seeing a lone soldier standing between them and their goal, they had meant to skirt the edge of the firelight where the soldier, English and drunk, had stood keeping watch. But exhausted and just a bit sloppy from relief, they were spotted by the soldier.  
“‘Ey! You two!” the soldier called, the twins speed up, feigning ignorance. “Oi, you two in the getup, stop!” The soldier, surprisingly nimble in his armour, cut them off, his sword held out in front of them. Frustration welling up inside, Arthur shoved it back down as he stepped further in front of Melie, his arms outstretched in a protective manner.  
“Where’d you come from? You alone?” The soldier leered. At their continued silence, irritation settled heavily on his face. “Say something arsehole!”  
Arthur stepped forward slightly, struggling to keep his frustration and anger under control, an issue the specter did not have to contend with. “They are half your age, you sod!"  
“That’s my sister, you bastard. Now let us go!” Arthur gritted out, the specter pacing around them.  
Melie leaned out from behind him, “You’ll never see us again, I swear!”, her voice as innocent and desperate sounding as he’d ever heard her. The soldier scoffed, “ Ha ha! Not a chance! Where I come from-”

Honestly, Arthur didn’t know if it was providence intervening on their behalf, or if the specter really was a guardian angel of sorts, but at that very moment, a group of three, fugitives by the looks of it, came along, creeping behind the half ruined stone wall. Melie having had spotted them at the same moment, called out, “Hey! What about them?” She pointed the shadows moving in the dark, “Are you going to let them go?”  
The soldier whirled around mid-story. “What? Hey!”  
Seizing the opportunity, Arthur pushed the soldier over, “Now!”

Melie darted away for her pack, as Arthur kicked the soldier in the side. With the calls of soldiers approaching, he called to Melie, heading deeper into the woods. The thudding of feet pounded away behind them, the call of a child screaming for help, and the voice of a woman yelling “RUN!” going deathly silent. Still, they ran, the specter keeping pace, but constantly looking back with a troubled look to his face. When they finally stopped, Melie whirled around, a dagger held to the throat of their tagalong. 

The boy, no older than 12 or 13, fell back, his green eyes large, and arms upraised to ward off her attack.  
“What do you want?” Melie snarled, a bloodthirsty edge sharpening her tone.  
“I mean you no harm”, the boy said, slowly getting back on his feet, “but you need to help my companions.”  
Arthur idly examined his nails, flicking out dirt from the crevices. “We don’t need to do anything.”  
“You’re right. You don’t”, the boy brushed dirt off his green tunic before turning his large eyes on Arthur, “but my companions can reward you handsomely.”  
“So what, they’re rich?” Melie asked, feigning nonchalance.  
The boy nodded enthusiastically, “Very. Will you save them?”  
The specter appraised the boy. “Well, he looks trustworthy.”  
Arthur looked at Melie. “We’ll think about it.”  
***  
Hours later, the twins found themselves perched outside the Plantagenets camp, watching as the soldiers patrolled the wooden walls. After stashing away their loot with the boy, Lucas, they traced their steps to the camp. The lone structure standing in a large clearing at the end of the carnage wasn’t hard to find, especially with the regular trips of patrolling soldiers, though the call of carrion birds, would have lead them to the camp eventually. The nearby trees were laden with the birds, and the cacophony was nigh intolerable. Around the camp were ditches, filled to the brim with the dead. Not an unusual sight, considering the sea of dead they had traversed but hours ago, but the sheer amount of crows feasting on their flesh was alarming.  
“I didn’t think I’d ever see so many birds”, Arthur murmured, as the murder took to the skies, an errant arrow finding its way amongst their midst.  
“Nor I”, admitted the specter, “Not even when I was on the battlefield.”  
Arthur looked at him sharply, “...Battlefield?” he murmured.  
Melie’s glanced at him from above her mask. “Did you say something?”  
Arthur sighed, glancing at the specter’s thoughtful face as he checked his mask. “We should go.”

Curiosity gnawing away at him, Arthur and Melie headed towards the camp, as the specter scouted the way for them. They slipped over the wall, mere shadows against the rough wood, and with the assistance of the specter, found the girl. She was lying down in a short cage, in a blessedly unguarded area near the center of the camp, as a soldier wandered over to her, a bowl in hand. As he woke the girl, Amicia, Arthur and Melie split up, the specter following him as he chose a new vantage spot. Watching the soldier talk to the girl, the specter crouched down beside him, and said, “I’ve been on my fair share of battlefields”, Arthur jumped, mildly startled, “But never have I seen the carrion eaters like this.”  
“So you were a soldier?” Arthur murmured, watching the soldier walk away.  
The specter kept pace beside him as he jogged to the cage, “Yes, in fa-”, Arthur raised his finger to his lips, in the universal silence gesture. With the specter and the girl, Amicia, silent, he pointed her to where his sister waited in the shadows, and lopped off. As his sister explained the situation to Amicia, Arthur climbed up into the parapets, the specter at his heels. Carefully watching Melie’s progress through the camp, Arthur turned to the specter.  
“If you were a soldier who seen ‘his fair share’ of battle, where were you?” The specter looked at him, a little stunned, but Arthur continued in a hushed tone, “You just disappeared after the rats showed up!”  
The specter made to speak, but no words came out. “Arthur”, he finally said, “I know things don’t make much sense right now, and believe me, I don’t understand much of what’s going on eith-”, Melie’s signal rang out clear, 3 short caws. Getting up, Arthur replied a single caw, and threw Devorantis at the cart, sending billowing clouds of murky swamp green smoke into the air. Darting into the shadows, Arthur made his way to a clear vantage point and settled to wait.  
“As I was saying”, the specter said, “Nothing makes sense, in fact, nothing has made sense since you first saw me, Arthur! Actually, that wouldn’t be right,”Arthur glanced at him, before returning to watch his sister move through a patch of tall grass. “Nothing made sense even before I died, but I thought it did! Until it didn’t.”  
Getting up again, he followed their progress in the parapets. “You’re not making much sense. And you didn’t answer my question”, he murmured to the agitated specter.  
Melie signalled again, 5 sharp caws. Arthur threw his mixture into the barrel of spears and ran to his next vantage point.  
“My point is, my point is?!”, he ran his hands through his hair, eyebrows raised high and mouth twisted, “Don’t leave life changing revelations until someone’s dying. It fucks with you, and you don’t get to-” Arthur ran to the other side of the parapet, “it just leaves people with regrets. And I couldn’t do anything-”, Melie cawed 2 short bursts, “because well, I’m dead.”  
Arthur shot the stewing pot and ducked out of sight. Turning to the specter, he gave him an appraising look. “Been meaning to get that off your chest, haven’t ya?  
The specter, ruffled and lively looking, snorted. “You would too, if the only person who could see you was a child. But to answer your question-” Arthur raised an eyebrow as he prepared more mixed more alcohol and saltpeter together, “I didn’t leave you. Not when the rats arrived, and not after I dragged you out of the river.”  
Arthur stilled, and looked up, into the specter’s face, whispering, “You were the one who dragged us out of the river?”  
“Carried”, the specter corrected, “but yes. And I tried to change you both back into dry clothing, but”, the specter shrugged, “whatever made it possible for me to touch, anything, caused me to, to vanish.” The specter looked out over the grounds, frowning, “It was like the old days, but- Melie and Amicia went into a tent.”  
“What?” Arthur moved to the specter’s side, “Where?”  
“That one”, the specter pointed, motioning to a grand red and white tent, near the kitchens.  
Arthur sighed and adjusted his position. Melie was a talented thief in her own right, but sometimes she took the riskier path that more sensible minded people would reconsider. Fortunately, Melie and Amicia had an uneventful trip through the tent, and emerged unscathed and undetected on the other side of the tents. Gazing at the next half of the journey, Arthur felt the specter stiffen. “Those bastards”, he growled. The girls had nearly made it to where the boy was being held, in an airborne cage, surrounded by soldiers, jostling and prodding the boy.  
“I thought you were English?”, Arthur murmured, as the soldiers continued to taunt the boy.  
The specter quietly seethed. “Not like this. The land I came from is no more, but I at least hoped some characteristics would carry on, like treating a child with care and dignity.”  
A shout from the soldiers scattered them to the wind, and the girls raced forward to get the boy free.  
The specter continued, “This is deplorable.” With the boy in hand, the girls skirted the edge of the camp, an Arthur followed. “Especially with ransomed hostages, etiquette indicates that you don’t kill them, keep them alive, and with younger hostages, treat them in an appropriate manner. Not as target practice!”

They had reach the eastern gate, and with freedom insight, Arthur could feel the relief threatening to rise. Though that freedom, the tantalizing taste that they got, was cruelly wrenched away by fate, as the gate opened and the Inquisition arrived. The specter’s swearing faded into the background as Arthur began to feel the encroaching breathlessness and telltale chill in his limbs. In plain sight, the boy clung to his sister, Melie’s shock plain to see as the Inquisition’s leader rode forth atop a black horse. 

“I pay a ransom for the De Rune children, and I have to catch them myself?”, and even safely hidden out of sight, Arthur felt the cold climbing up his spine at the leader’s gruff voice. Struggling to stay calm, Arthur grabbed onto a barrel, and noticing the gunpowder within, got to work. “Melie! Run!”, Arthur yelled, as he launched his impromptu contraption at the leader. Not looking back at the resulting explosion, Arthur followed Melie from the parapet, his heart in his throat. Amidst the chaos, Arthur heard Melie yell as he dodged and evaded the soldiers.  
“What the hell did you do?”  
“Nothing!”, Amicia replied, “We didn’t do anything! They want Hugo!” 

Following the specter, he heard the Inquisition leader yell “Amicia! Stop running! Deliver us the boy!”, the soldiers leaping into action. Moments later, the leader raged, “BREAK DOWN THAT DOOR! MOVE!” Arthur anxiously watched Melie frantically working on the lock, as Amicia flung her sling with deadly accuracy at the overwhelming horde.  
“Go with Melie”, the specter looked concern, “Please! Maybe you’ll be able to keep her safe”, Arthur pleaded.  
“What are you planning?”, the specter looked at him, a cool hand hoveringing over his shoulder.  
Arthur looked at the piled up barrels. “A distraction.”  
The specter’s face lit with understanding before clouding over with uncharacteristic grimness. “Don’t get caught.” Arthur smiled grimly as the specter left, reappearing by Melie’s side as the lock popped open. He quickly rolled the barrels into position, and waited anxiously for Melie to get clear. With the soldiers firing after his sister, Arthur lit the barrels up and watched the world burn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance if I am unable to complete this work. Life has risen like a rabid beast, and does not seem likely to tone it down anytime soon.


	4. The Darkest Hour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not so good times, a bit rushed

After that explosion, everything passed by in a blur of heat, smoke, and screaming. Arthur didn’t know who was screaming, didn’t know if they were still screaming, but the incessant ringing in his ears wouldn’t go away. That combined with the ceaseless pounding in his head, had Arthur reeling in nausea, and so he tentatively rolled onto his side, careful cradling his aching ribs. Before he could completely turn, he was pulled to a painful stop, the cold edge of manacles mercilessly digging into the fresh bruises around his ankles. Gingerly, he rubbed at the crust and grit gluing his eyes shut, shackles clinking in deceptive gentleness, and fought down the rising breathlessness.

He was in a cart, like the one so many years ago, the age old wood stained by mysterious means, the iron bars thick, cold, and dark. A thick plume of white smoke rose in the distance, and Arthur shut his eyes tight, striving to push past the memories that threatened to drown him. His eyes stung, throat raw as he struggled to breath, the knowledge that the Plangenet camp would probably be the last place he saw either of them again, just like his mother, overwhelming his already frayed nerves. Arthur would’ve cried, had it not hurt so much, his eyes and nose stinging, his ears ringing, his throat sore and raw as his ribs were tender, the heart beneath aching and empty.

Lost as he was in the pain and grief, he wasn’t able to ignore the painful jab between his shoulder blades, just shy of what he was sure were cracked ribs.  
‘’Oi thief, get up”, the Inquisition soldier jabbed again, more forceful, “Get up you bastard, this ain’t no leisure trip. The Lord Nicolas wants to speak to you.”

He was dragged out of the cart, the Bastion’s large and foreboding architecture overshadowed by the massive multi-tier gallows, a veritable amphitheater for the crows and rats to feast from and watch the city’s downfall. The wind blew and Arthur gagged from the stench rolling off of the bodies as they shook in a macabre dance, the empty eye sockets staring vacantly as their faces slowly sloughed off. Hunched over, desperate for fresh air, the soldiers dragged him inside the yawning depths of the Bastion, the rattle and clink of bones his only farewell.

***

They dragged him past pews upon pews of indifferent clerics kneeling to an absent god, the vaulted ceilings echoing with their sonorous voices. They harmonized with the shuffle of their feet upon the polished stone, the soprano screams from distant cells contrasting with the gentle bassline of moans. The vaulted decorated ceilings gave way to lower barren ceilings, soot stained and oppressive, as the fanatic clerics became prisoners. Bound and bleeding above pits, an alchemist fanatically preaching of their sacrifice to the moaning masses, the rats squeaking and writhing beneath them. Reeling from shock and dread, Arthur was dragged away from the hellish facsimile of worship, down a hallway lined with cells, their inhabitants lying frightfully still as rats cowered in shadowy corners. He was dragged to a door past the cells, from which  a soldier exited carrying an unconscious woman. Her dress was a dim velvet, tattered and stained a rusty brown, her bandaged arm blooming fresh red, and yet she maintained this air of noblesse. Arthur couldn’t help but feel déjà vu at the sight of her even as her dress proclaimed she was so very not of the folk he dealt with. As he was carried into the room, the floor still soaked in the woman’s blood, and strapped into the rack, her face stubbornly remained floating in front of his mind’s eye. Then Lord Nicolas stepped up wielding a nasty looking contraption, and all thought left Arthur.

***

He awoke to the clang of bolts sliding into place. Lifting his face from where it was smashed against the floor, Arthur groaned and immediately stopped trying to move. His body was a mess of pulsating pain, each movement sending a firestorm of fresh agony through his body. He tentatively tried to move his fingers, relieved when he didn’t feel manacles. Inch by inch, Arthur eased himself into a sitting position, the ever present squeaking of rats setting him on edge. Gasping from the effort, Arthur braced himself against the bars of his cell. He didn’t know how long it had been since that fateful rescue attempt, but he wondered if Melie had gotten away safe. She had probably already gotten a small fortune for rescuing the noblesse children, and if all had gone well, she would be making her way to the coast. She always did talk about seeing the ocean at least once. Arthur smiled, as he settled more comfortably against the bars, the torch behind him casting long flickering shadows. He wondered what she planned to do with the reward, if she would leave the thieving behind for good. She could apprentice to a locksmith, he mused, if she could find one who would take her on, quirks and all. Or maybe she would join on with a caravan or travelling merchants, and turn the small fortune into big fortune. Arthur chuckled, Melie the Merchant, his chuckles turning into a pained hiss as his ribs ached unpleasantly. She would like that, travelling countries, seeing the world and all it has to offer. Or maybe, a hidden part of him whispered, she would come for- Arthur quickly squashed that thought, hope strangled by terror of her being caught. What if she’s already caught, the hidden part of him continued, she has no one to watch out for her, the rats could have already gotten her if the Inquisition soldiers haven’t already. With the spluttering of a dying breath, the brazier behind him went out, leaving him with the dying sunlight from the window above. The rats, sensing the weakening in his protections, crawled nearer, inky rabid beasts watching their next meal. Arthur crawled further into himself, fighting the rising helplessness and frustration, as his pool of light got smaller and murkier. Cursing himself for getting caught and leaving his sister alone, Arthur braced himself for the onslaught of sharp ravenous teeth.

It never came. Arthur peered past the bars, careful of his bruised and cut face. The flickering light grew stronger, sending the rats into a frenzy as an armored soldier appeared, a lantern in hand. He was escorting the woman, nay, the lady from before. Still in her tattered dress, she walked with careful precise movements, as if she was simply going to a pleasant meal instead of to another round of torture. Though she passed within inches of him, she showed no sign that she saw him, that she recognized him, yet that sense of familiarity persisted. “Well she’s gorgeous”, a cold breeze wafted over his shoulder. Arthur intently watching the procession as best he could, yelped, banging his bruised face into the cell bars. The lady stumbled and fell into the bars, a pained gasp escaping her stoicism. The guard grabbed her arm and hauled her up right. “On your feet, Beatrice”, he pulled her away, “we haven’t all day.” She sagged a bit, before pulling herself upright and gazed steadily into the soldier’s face. Though he couldn’t see her face, Arthur could feel the icy chill in his blood as she replied in a barely audible tone, “Though I may be the Inquisition’s prisoner, that does not change my status. You may refer to me as Magistre de Rune or Lady De Rune. Are we clear?” The soldier, visible to Arthur, was pale. “Y-yes, my lady”, he stumbled to the side and motioned her ahead. As they disappeared around the corner, the rats surged in closer, the specter crowding him against the bars.  
“Owww”, Arthur hissed as his head, still tender from his fall, knocked against the metal bars.  
The specter winced, “Sorry mate, the rats were nip-”, he leaned back and froze.  
Arthur glanced at him, gingerly shifting his aching bones into a more comfortable position. Uncomfortable under the intensity of the specter’s roving gaze, Arthur turned away from him.  
“What-”, the specter swallowed, “what”, he took a deep breath,” happened?”  
“Oh you know”, Arthur grinned, quickly slipping into a wince when the cut on his lip pulled open, “Just a few rounds with a torturer.”  
“You don’t say”, the specter said, his face carefully blank of emotion. “Your voice is ruined.”  
Arthur shrugged, “I’ll be fine. How’s Melie? Did-Is she doing well?”  
The specter looked him over, taking in the bruises, the cuts, the guarded way he held his torso and sighed. “She’s better off than you are. She took the nobles and the boy, uhh, Lucas, to the Chateau he mentioned. But you, you won’t last the night, especially if you don’t bandage those ribs.”  
Arthur nodded, “But did she get paid?”  
The specter levelled an unimpressed look at him. “There are more important things to do, Arthur, then wonder if you’re sister got paid!”, he huffed in exasperation, “Which means you are getting out of here.”  
“There’s too many guards and acolytes to escape undetected”, Arthur hissed, “Especially when I’m this injured, and you’re, well, you.”  
The specter looked at him, an eyebrow twitching, “Well, it’s a good thing then that you aren’t going to be doing this alone.”Arthur looked at him, confused as he continued, “I’ll go scout the possible routes, see if they stored your stuff nearby, you just-”  
Enlightenment struck like a bolt of lightning, and Arthur squawked. “W-whaT?-d-don’t-MeLIE?!!?!”  
“That’s a marvelous imitation of a choking parrot, but time is of the essence. Remember to bandage your ribs”, the specter gave a little jaunty wave as he set off, Arthur still spluttering inarticulately behind him.

***

Left alone with his thoughts and the rats, Arthur stewed in his anxiety and frustration for however long it took to bind his ribs in strips from his undershirt. Then he settled to wait, pressed up against the bars in the little pool of light afforded to him from the nearby braziers. In this twilight space removed from time, Arthur mulled over the idea of escaping, like a smooth pebble he’d once found on the banks of a river. Smooth and drab underwater, in the open air it glimmered and sparkled with hidden lights that tantalized his childish mind. He had carried it everywhere he went, that his mother had sown a little pouch for him to carry it around in. Arthur smiled, remembering his mother’s fond way of caressing his hair when he showed her the stone. She always had the softest smile, and always smelled like rosemary, no matter the weather. And even if he doesn’t remember what she looked like, or what she sounded like, he knew that she would want Melie and him to survive. To live. And so, renewed determination setting a fire in his heart, Arthur set about preparing for Melie’s arrival.

***

Shouting and the rumbling of armoured feet running down the hallway startled him out of his daze. Blinking blearily, Arthur watched the chaos, words echoing senselessly, until “The université is on fire” broke through. He watched the hallways empty out, the Inquisition soldiers and guards, acolytes and alchemists, rushing to where they needed to be. In the silence, beyond the everpresent chattering of rats, Arthur could hear the other prisoners moving and shuffling. Grabbing a shattered bone by his feet, he attempted to pick the lock. Focusing on a particularly stubborn tumbler, he barely noticed the near silent pad of feet, nor the imperceptible intake of breath, but he did notice the dark clad figure who walked into his light. Arthur looked up and breathed, “...Melie”, the cool waft of air brushing gently against his bruises. She pulled down her mask, her eyes swimming in relief and sorrow, as the ever watchful specter hovering over her shoulder waved. “Hi Chaput”, she whispered, “That lock might open faster if you use something that isn’t crumbling to pieces.”  
His eyes tearing up, Arthur smiled, “By all means, ma chouchou, open the door.”  
Melie crouched down, her picks already working away at the lock, and quirked an eyebrow. “Ma chouchou?”, she whispered, “why the old pet name, Chaput?”  
The door swung open, and Arthur stumbled out, falling into Melie as the specter braced his shoulder. “I”, he took a shuddering breath, “I’m just really mad at you for being so reckless.”  
Melie snorted. “Sure you are”,she said, sliding a supportive arm under his, “Can you walk?”  
He nodded and followed Melie, as the specter chuckled. “Nice to see that you at least can listen to some lifesaving advice.” Arthur glanced at him, a wry smile at his lips.

***

Due to the fire blazing at the université, which according to Melie could only be due to the girl they rescued, Amicia, searching for a book, the Bastion was near empty. The way out was mostly clear and thanks to the specter’s foresight and Melie’s quick thinking, they escaped into the city and onto the rooftops undetected.

They ended up leaving the city as dawn broke over the walls, due to frequent stops for Arthur to rest, a fact he resented but appreciated. After a day and a half of excruciatingly slow travel, the trio reached a safe hideout and began Arthur’s recuperation in earnest. For the next 2 weeks, Arthur slowly but surely got better, his ribs healed, and he learned more. More of what happened after he was caught, more of what the specter saw in Bastion, and more about the kids they had rescue. One fact in particular stood out regarding the two;  
“Wait”, Arthur said, taken aback, “Their family name is ‘De Rune’?”  
The specter stilled as Melie looked up from where she was darning a hole in her hood.”Yeah, the Inquisition apparently has it out for the whole De Rune family”, she knotted her thread, sealing the hole shut. “Apparently they killed their parents trying to get to Amicia’s little brother, Hugo.”  
The specter hissed, Arthur’s eyes flying open as the pieces came together, snapping into place as if there had ever been a doubt about their origin. The specter looked at him, and Arthur knew he had fit them together as well.  
“You have to tell them”, he said urgency in his tone, as Arthur turned to Melie, “We have to find them. Melie”, Arthur whispered, “I think their mother is alive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, can you spot where I rushed, cuz I can.  
> Anyways, this chapter was a rush job, I apologize for the overall lack in quality, I just wanted to get it out whileI still could.  
> Lemme know if anything is super OOC or if there's mistakes, cuz it isn't beta'd.
> 
> Translation: Mon chouchou is an affectionate term, that translates to cabbage. So like in French, people would call Cabbage Patch kids, Les Chouchou? Les bebes de chouchou? I dunno
> 
> Happy pride guys~


	5. Moment of Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The twins show up 3 weeks late, starbucks in hand, with shocking news.

With the misty morning light and the crisp scent of autumnal snows, the chateau appeared as if from a half remembered dream. Though cracked and tumbled by age, the walls and towers still retained some of the doubtlessly formidable and daunting strength of yore, like a stately matriarch dragon overlooking the toil and clamour of the wars of time. And like that half remembered dream, it took Arthur’s breath away. Though, that could be due to the cold of the specter rushing by him and into the mist of what may be the very real heart of myth and legend. According to Melie, the Chateâu d’Ombrage, stronghold of ancients and current domicile of the de Runes and friends, was perfectly safe if not a bit drafty and prone to strangely human noises. And with the multitude of ingenious traps and the underground lake, Arthur couldn’t help but agree with her. Yet, somehow he still couldn’t shake off the apprehensive feeling that something was coming.

A loud yell echoed through the courtyard as a large brown haired man in a stained leather apron popped up from behind a ruined wall  
“AMICIA! LUCAS!”, he called, running out to meet them, “I believe your twins are back.”  
“Melie!” a joyous voice called out as Amicia rushed forward and clasped her hands. Freedom looked good on her, Arthur thought, as he took in the smiling faces and the comradery in the air. “You found him….”, she turned to look at him, her broad grin faltering at the shadows that haunted his face.  
Uncomfortable from the attention, he grimaced. “More dead than alive, but yes.”  
Melie’s smile faded as she pulled Amicia closer, as if to it would make it easier for Amicia to hear their news. “Amicia, we....”, she began, “We came because...Well”, she turned to him, her blue eyes panicked and pleading, “Arthur, you tell her.”

Arthur sighed as he was ultimately left with the distasteful task of telling them the not so great news. “Yes”, he breathed, steeling himself.  
“After our little adventure with your heretic burning friends”, he swallowed down the burgeoning memories threatening to break his composure, “ I, ended up in an Inquisition cell.”  
Arthur looked into Amicia’s eyes, focusing on the confusion swirling in their brown depths. “One day, I saw the guards accompanying a prisoner who looked the worse for wear. Those bastards wanted her to tell them where her son was. So, they threatened her…. And I heard her name.”  
Amicia’s eyes went wide, the murky depths silently protesting his words as fear and grief warred with the hope and utter desolation of what his next words would confirm. Arthur felt his composure slipping, felt the tears welling up in his own eyes, reflections to Amicia’s own even as he struggled to get the words out past the stones lodged in his throat.  
“...Beatrice de Rune.”

“M-mother’s alive?!” Amicia recoiled, as Lucas reached out to steady her. “She’s alive!”, she whispered incredulously, the relief and joy coming off of her in waves suddenly turning jagged and sharp with realization as she rounded on Melie. “You managed to get Arthur out-”  
Melie looked at her sympathetically. “It wasn’t simple, believe me…”  
“So you could…?”, she finished hopefully, eager like a puppy at the first snow as she turned to Arthur.  
“Forget it!”, Arthur answered, internally dying as he watched his words guillotine her hopes and dreams, but forged on. “I was nothing, but she, she’s too important to the Grand Inquisitor. He...er, he ‘questions’ her...a lot.” He turned away, unable to bear the tortured look in her eyes, but caught the full force of Lucas’ torn look instead.  
The finest of lines cracked her expression in devastation, as the full implication sunk in. “They torture her?”, Amicia said, her voice a hushed dark thing as a wild, calculating look came to her eyes. “Hugo mustn’t know anything of this.” She turned to look at them, her gaze boring into their very souls, and in that moment Arthur was absolutely confident that the lady in the tattered dress with the voice who could chill the very stone to their bones was her mother.  
Lucas, brave or foolhardy, spoke up, “Even that she’s alive?” Amicia’s gaze intensified, his next words faltering, “It might help him….”  
“And what will we say when he wants to see her?”, she replied, the desperation and frustration rolling off of her into a tumultuous, tangible thing. “Tell him nothing, alright?”, she turned to each of them, as the horrid truth loomed over them all. Arthur sympathised with their plight, and apparently the others did too, as the large brown haired man reached out to clap Amicia on the shoulder, whilst Lucas sighed, and Melie murmured accent.

A shrill cry echoed off the courtyard stones, and Amicia turned pale. “Oh no,” she cried as she raced back into the entrance, Lucas a close shadow on her heels,”Hugo! HUGO!” Glancing anxiously after them, Melie followed in pursuit, leaving Arthur in the courtyard with the brown haired man. Feeling the ache in his bones a bit too acutely for comfort, Arthur shifted his pack.  
“Come on then - I’ll show you where we all bed down. Just so you know; it’s nothing like the fine accommodations the Bastion has to offer, but the roommates are better.”  
Done fiddling with whatever was in his pockets, he glanced at Arthur, a grin lighting up his eyes. Arthur smiled, and followed the brawny man as he headed into the vaulted entrance of the inner hallways. “I’m Rodric by the way, Rodric Martel”, he said, twirling a small hammer around surprisingly deft fingers. “Resident blacksmith and masonry man.”  
Arthur nodded, looking suitably dull. “Arthur LaPointe, Melie’s twin. You know”, he gestured to the hammer being flung into the air, “I never would’ve guessed- I’d have thought you were a tanner, or a baker, maybe a candlestick maker.”  
Rodric stopped, and upon catching Arthur’s small smile, burst into uproarious laughter, the very ceilings ringing with the sound. “The man still has a sense of humor! Well truss me up and call me a goose!”, he exclaimed, his arm coming to rest lightly upon Arthur’s shoulders.  
Arthur wheezed, the bag pulled on one of his still healing wounds. “A goose!?”  
Still breathlessly chuckling, Rodric slung an arm around Arthur’s shoulders and tugged him in the direction of yet another set of stairs. “Well, you’re not going to call me a pigeon.”  
“Oh you have no need to worry about that- most would liken you to a bear”, Arthur grinned, feeling the first few tendrils of a long forgotten, delectable warmth uncoil from within his heart.

***

Idly cataloguing escape routes and listening to Rodric’s many anecdotes, Arthur barely noted the hours pass until his stomach did him the courtesy of growling like a ravenous beast. Rodric chuckled and pulled him down another path, the promise of warm food and a comfy pallet a balm to his soul. As they ambled along, Rodric regaling a mishap with a chisel, a squirrel and a sack of rock hard bread, Arthur was tugged to a stop. He stumbled closer to the hallway wall and brushed aside the hanging foliage as the pull grew ever stronger. Hidden in shadows, faded and weathered by time, was a large fierce dragon wreathed in flames. Set against a dark background, spotted and marked from the embrace of clinging vines and lichen, Arthur had almost missed the mural, as large as it was. He frowned, and peered closer, determinedly rubbing at the spotted mural. “Arthur, what ar- mon Dieu....”, Rodric said in awe as Arthur scrubbed harder.  
“Can you...get this...off?” Arthur grunted as he stepped back, and examined his pathetic attempt. Rodric shook his head.  
“Nothin’ I can do about that. Cleaning them without the proper tools would just as easily destroy the tiles. Besides, the pattern is still visible. See?” Rodric pointed. “They intentionally used lighter stones beside the darker ones to create these waves. Quite sophisticated work, though they shaped their waves a bit oddly. Unless….” He brushed his fingertips over the sharp point on the pattern, an asymmetrical irregularity in the generally smooth oblong shape. Bleary eyed, Arthur joined him at the wall, following the shape of the pattern, as something began to take shape in the back of his mind. Sliding his fingers, he nudged away a bit more of the vines, unveiling a smooth expanse of pale stone. Pulling the vines off revealed a person in mostly intact white stone, holding aloft a piece of the wave, a pile of crowns beneath their feet. Rodric glanced over, and sighed. “Well, I should’ve known they would be waves of rats. The place is practically crawling with them.” He shuddered, glancing out a nearby window. “But enough about that, lets get some food!”

They got to the hall to find it empty, save for Hugo sleeping on a pallet. He was twitching and shivering, the blanket twisted under his legs, and exposing the prominent bandages and black scarring that marred his washed out skin. Rodric rushed over to him and with deft movements, carefully untangled and tucked the blanket around Hugo. With a soothing murmur, Rodric caressed Hugo’s head one last time and joined Arthur by the fireplace. Arthur glanced at the now peaceful sleeping child as Rodric ladelled the simmering stew into bowls as he idly fed the fire, his curiosity building ever higher until he asked the burning question.  
“What happened to him?”  
Rodric paused, the bowl of stew half frozen between them. “Uh, well, that’s-”, his eyebrows scrunched low on his face, “Who? Hugo?”  
Arthur nodded.  
“That’s probably a question best left to Lucas, yea? Cause I, I don’t really know myself.” Rodric slid a roughly carved spoon into the bowl.  
“Oh”, Arthur grabbed the bowl, a chunk of carrot floating at the top, “ it’s just that from what Melie told me, and what I saw, he wasn’t....as sick? Before. And, well….”  
“He wasn’t this bad when I got here either. He was up and about, but I guess whatever he has is… winning.”  
Rodric smiled at him, brief and warm as the sunshine on a cloudy day. “Hopefully the book Amicia and Lucas were looking for has what they need. Absit omen.” He knocks on a nearby log.  
“Knock on wood”, Arthur agreed, tapping his bowl. “But, how did you end up coming back to the Chateau? It’s not easy to stumble upon-”  
“Now that is a tale for the ages”, he grinned and settled himself more comfortably on the pallet. “You see, Dorian Martel was a well known and very skilled blacksmith and mason, the most skilled some would say, this side of la Loire. In fact, all my skills are what I picked up and was taught by him.” Rodric twirled his spoon across his fingers, gravy droplets flying through the air.  
“Like that?” Arthur nodded at the arcs of gravy scattered over their feet.  
“Like this.” He pulled out a nail from one of the many compartments on his belt, and spun it across his knuckles. It disappeared in the dip between thumb and forefinger, only to reappear in his other hand, nestled between palm and bowl.  
“That’s one talented man.”  
Rodric smiled, like the first frost at dawn. “The Maesters at the Universite certainly thought so. They hired him to build this massive library underneath the library, y’know a secret library for the really special books. Since it was such an important and secretive job, it was only him and me that were allowed in there to do the work. We spent so fuckin long building that mosaic, and those Inquisition cunts just-” he growled, thunder brewing in his eyes. “It was really beautiful y’know? An absolute masterpiece, each piece picked for clarity of colour, and then sanded down until they fit, just right...And they- they just, fuckin, tore it up! Trying to open the goddamn door. Dorian fucking Martel built that door, there was no way they were going to open it, the uncouth butchers, unless the walls themselves fell down. But that door…”, Rodric sighed, sipping the last of the broth, “we carved it out of this massive piece of granite. We had to carve it right there in the universite, and when it came time to attach it to the wall, we needed to bring in a pair of oxen and an entire pulley system. My arms never hurt so much as it did when we got that door finally set up. But when that was over, I got these,” Rodric flexed and Arthur had never been so afraid in his life for the cloths integrity, so tight did it stretch across the muscles. “Dorian though, he built in a secret door between the carvings of the saints that only open with a special code, cause, the monks and Maesters, they aren’t so strong they can move a block of granite everytime they need to get to the books. Arthur I’m telling you, when we finished you couldn’t even tell there was a door in the granite, it was truly some of our best work. And they killed him for it.”

Rodric stared into the fire, his empty bowl set aside, the small hammer back in his hands. “There were only three people who knew how to open that door: the Head Maester, Dorian Martel, and me. I’m the only one who survived. Though, I have no doubt that had they not been so desperate for the door’s code, they would have tortured me until I died like-” He buried his head in his hands, shuddering with stifled breaths. Arthur unsure of what to do, shifted over until he sat next to Rodric, and patted him on the back. When he made no move, Arthur slowly began to move his hand, gradually getting more smooth with the lack of a negative reaction. With each circle, Rodric’s shaking grew less pronounced until finally he grew still, the only movement his deep breaths. Unsure if he was sleeping, Arthur made to remove his hand, when Rodric started speaking.

  
“So they killed the Head Maester, Dorian Martel, and have me at the door, stalling for enough time to figure a way out, when this massive chain holding an even more gigantic chandelier snaps, crushing this knight wearing full armour- which buys me enough time to take out the other guard. And who should step out once the chaos dies down? This thin slip of a woman, little more than a girl with a slingshot.”  
Arthur chuckles.  
“And damn, does she know how to use it. I couldn’t watch what Amicia was doing, trying to open the door before we were skewered on the end of someone’s sword, but I heard her take out no less than six of the Inquisition’s dogs. When I got the door open, we raced into the depths of the unfinished underground library and into the secret chamber filled with books, all the while she’s talking about how this book is going to save her brother.” Rodric sighs, and turns to look at Arthur. “Maybe it was because she was doing this mad thing for her brother, but… she convinced me to help her, despite the vows I had taken with Dorian to protect those doors from those who would enter.”  
Arthur rubbed his back, a smile on his lips. “She does have that sense of noblesse oblige around her doesn’t she?”  
Rodric, a hand buried in his hair, turned to look more fully at Arthur. “Yeah, yeah she does.” The firelight lit him from behind, his eyes sparkling as he laughed. “No wonder she looked so appalled when the library started burning-”

“Wait-”, Arthur’s hand stilled, “That was you two?!”  
Rodric nodded, his eyes filled with mirth. “It was an accident- the chandelier she brought down landed on a lot of paper-”  
“We could see the burning from the other side of the city- and the smoke was visible for miles after!” Arthur said, thunderstruck.  
“Word of advice, never run through a burning building if you don’t have to. It’s hot as all hell and terrible on your lungs. I was coughing up black phlegm for days after.”  
“Wouldn’t you be used to flames as a blacksmith?” They turned to look as Melie slipped through the entrance, a bag slung over her shoulder. “You know, with the furnace and everything?” She pulled out a blanket covered bundle, and sorted through the herbs, mushrooms, and tubers that fell out.  
Rodric laughed. “Well being a blacksmith doesn’t make me fireproof, more like fire resistant. And most definitely not to burning buildings.”  
Melie looked over at them and smirked. “It wouldn’t be the most unusual thing to happen these past months.” She ladelled soup into two bowls.  
“So, we got out of the universite, and since going home wasn’t safe- FUCKIN’ HELL”, he yelped as Melie tossed a dagger at Arthur, who casually snatched the blade out of the air.  
“Do you usually toss knives around like that?” He asked, eyebrows raised as Arthur calmly walked over to the table.  
Melie shook Hugo awake. “All the time- throwing knives are a family tradition. You should get Arthur to juggle for you sometime.” She glanced over at Arthur and winked. Arthur blushed, scrubbing the tubers hard enough to send water out of the bowl, feverently trying to ignore her.

“Where’s Amicia?” Hugo sat up and blearily rubbed his eyes.  
“Amicia and Lucas went on a scavenging trip for ingredients.” Melie smiled reassuringly at him. “They’ll be back soon.”  
Hugo looked at her, big grey eyes wide. “How soon?”  
She handed him the bowl of stew. “A few days at least. Now eat up, you’ll need your energy if you want to go exploring later.” Arthur looked up from drying the tubers. First the specter disappeared, and now this? How long were they going to have to stay?  
“Exploring? But Amicia said that the castle wasn’t safe.”  
Rodric walked over to Hugo, and crouched down in front of him. “She didn’t want you to go alone in case you got hurt, but it’s safer if you go exploring with one of us.” He ruffled his hair. “But before that, you have to eat your stew.”  
Arthur chopped up the tubers and added them to the pot. Carrots and mushrooms floated to the top, while a murky substance swirled into existence when he scraped the bottom. He frowned, and grabbed some water. “Melie,” he called, “Did you find some salt? Or pepper?”  
Melie snorted. “Yeah, and some saffron and chillies while I was hitting up the Versailles.”  
“Really?” Hugo slurped. Melie quirked an eyebrow at him. “Oh, you’re joking.”  
She smiled at him before turning to Arthur. “There’s some salted beef or pork in the bag that the rats didn’t get to yet. Also, I cleared out some of our nearby caches.”  
Arthur turned to look at her, knife poised above the meat. “And the items?”  
“Secured in rat, both animal and man, safe spots here and there.” She nodded at the blanket covered bundle. He continued dicing the meat. “Thanks Melie.”  
“You’re welcome, Chaput.”

***

Once darkness drew close , Rodric and Melie dragged him outside to prepare the rat traps. It was an ingenious invention, like the rest of the chateau, that he would’ve enjoyed the brilliance of more had he not been worrying about one mysterious specter and the goddamn rats. Once dark arrived, they would swarm out of the darkness, the incessant chattering and squeaking grating on his nerves. And no matter how many times he witnessed it, it never seemed to get easier to listen to.

High on the center platform, flinging Ignifer into the braziers as the rats spawned like some demonic infestation, Arthur watched the others run around sending the rats into the massive pit at the entrance to the courtyard. Running the perimeter, he watched for remaining rats before calling the all clear. Melie looked to him, and opened her arms wide. “How was that, Elegast? Is stealing freedom a mighty enough act for you?”  
Arthur laughed. “I’m not quite sure how this is stealing, Princess Emelia.”  
“Princess?” Melie roared as he joined her on the catwalk in front of the hall. “I have no recollection of this person. I am Melie the Ferocious! Slayer of rats, scourge of hefty coins. Prepare to face my wrath!”

She lunged at Arthur, playful swiping at him. Arthur dodged, stepping backwards, laughing at Melie’s exaggerated actions. She tackled him, and he tripped on a cracked flagstone. But instead of falling to his ass on the ancient paving, they were caught by brawny arms. Arms that effortlessly separated Arthur and Melie and set them back on their feet. “And who might you be good sir?” Melie asked.  
Rodric looked at them, puzzled. “Oh, um, Rodrii….” Arthur subtly shook his head. “...iic the… third?”  
Arthur shuddered, trying to stifle his laughter, as Melie sighed, “The third?”  
Arthur patted a befuddled Rodric. “It’s alright, we can work on your lying skills later.”  
As they headed into the hall, Rodric leaned towards him, “Why do I need to learn how to lie?”  
“You said it yourself”, Arthur glanced at him, “It’s not safe for you to go home and the Inquisition is undoubtedly looking for all of us, so. You need to learn how to not get caught, hence lying.” Arthur wiggled his fingers.  
Rodric looked thoughtful. “Huh. I...I suppose that’s true.”  
Melie looked over at them. “Well, you never had to hide like we do before, so it’s not surprising that it doesn’t come as easily to you as it does to us.” She gave him a wry smile. “We’ve got time. You’ll learn. But not now.” She kicked off her shoes, and climbed into her pallet, pulling the blankets up over her head until she became an indeterminate mound with a muffled good night. With an exasperated sigh, Arthur headed over to the table, clearing up the remains from dinner and Melie’s loot. With an amused look, Rodric joined him, washing the dishes and sorting the herbs while Arthur dried and stored them. When at last they finished, Arthur grabbed blanket wrapped bundle.  
“I’m going to open this outside, just in case there’s something nasty in there”, he tossed over his shoulder.  
“Yell if you need anything”, Rodric called as he toed of his boots, before rolling into his pallet.

Arthur set down the bundle and quickly unfurled it. Melie had gone for the cash cache, the coins they had separated in padded pouches and placed in other pouches to dull the attractive clink of metal and obvious bulge of coins. Quickly sliding the pouches into his inner pockets, Arthur unfurled the rest of the sheets and blankets, shaking them clear of the remaining debris. Satisfied that he got all the pouches, he gathered them back up and stored the excess pouches in their packs. He tossed a log on the fire, just for good luck, and Arthur too, fell into the warm embrace of sleep.

***

He awoke all too soon to the sound of crying. It was an all too familiar sound, sobs muffled by pillows and blankets. In hindsight maybe that was why he woke up, despite the sound itself being lost in the distant thunder and squeaking. The years he had spent trying to hide the tears the nightmares and grueling training sessions tore from him had attuned his ears to the very slightest catch of a breath. So when he caught the sniffles and whimpers of the less skilled, he was ripped from the sweet embrace of sleep. Turning to the left (because of course it wasn’t Melie- it was almost never Melie- her sorrow was an angry, sharp thing that came at you without a sound, her anger however was loud and lethal), he saw Hugo curled up by the feet of his and his sister’s pallets, a tiny sniffling blanket-covered bundle. With a sigh Arthur got up, dragging his own blankets with him to join Hugo, who desperately scrubbed his face when he realized Arthur was awake. Arthur looked at him and was hit by the strong sense of deja vu, that he had been in this position if not this place before. “Are you feeling well Hugo?” he asked, the words falling from his lips as if from a script.  
“Y-yes, I’m not feeling bad.” Hugo sniffed, curling deeper into his blanket till only the tip of his nose, red and dripping, could be seen.  
Grabbing a spare handkerchief, that was thankfully mostly clean, Arthur held it up to Hugo’s nose with a succinct “Blow”, and then thrust the handkerchief into Hugo’s small hands. Arthur tucked his blanket around both of them, and tilted his head towards Hugo. “But do you feel well?”  
Hugo looked down at his hands, worrying the handkerchief between bandaged fingers that had yet to lose their baby fat. “No”, came the mumbled response.  
“Do you want to talk about it?” Arthur asked, watching the increasingly worried handkerchief being twisted.  
Hugo looked up, his grey eyes swimming in tears. “I miss Amicia.”  
“She will come back. As soon as she can manage to.” Arthur lightly patted his head. “She cares deeply for you Hugo. She won’t leave you alone.”  
“B-but Mummy left a-and she never came b-b-a-ack.” Hugo sobbed, “What if A-a-amicia never comes b-back either?”  
Arthur felt a pain in his chest, and pulled the child into a hug. “She’s not alone, Lucas went with her, Hugo. They managed to survive this long, they will survive whatever happens next. I promise you that.”  
Hugo sniffed and looked up at him. “Promise?” he whispered, holding up his little finger.  
Arthur linked his little finger in the age old ritual, and smiled reassuringly, “Promise. Now do you feel like going to sleep?”  
Hugo shook his head.  
“Do you want me to stay up with you?”  
Hugo shyly nodded.  
Arthur threw another log on the fire and settled himself more comfortably on the pallet, then froze as Hugo burrowed into his side. Fighting the warm feeling building in his heart, Arthur wrapped the blankets more securely around them to block out the cold and waited.

He awoke to bright light, smothered giggles, and the mild sensation of being smothered with heat. Brushing impatiently at the hair falling in his face (because of course his hood and hair tie had fallen off), he struggled to get up until he glanced down and saw one tiny Hugo de Rune sleeping in the crook of his arm, and wrapped around his torso like a baby cub to a tree. Who was still deeply asleep despite the bright sunlight shining down on them and the stifled laughter of Rodric and Melie. Gently shaking him, Arthur called his name, trying to wake him up. Finally Hugo opened his eyes and glared sleepily at Arthur. “Good Night Mr.Renard” he grumbled with a sense of finality, much to the amusement of the other two.

With a grunt, Arthur resettled the blankets over Hugo and lay back down, closing his eyes. “Oh this is adorable.” Arthur’s eyes flew open as a familiar chill swept over him, soothing after the stifling heat, and looked straight into smiling warm blue pools framed by amber lashes . “You’ve found a friend”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we've set sail on the S.S. Fluff. We will be visiting bed sharing, intimacy, impromptu snow fights, and maybe even sharing body heat cuz lest we forget, these kids are squatting in an ancient castle! With holes large enough to be barn doors!
> 
> Anyways, sorry for the delay, I hit a snag and it took some crazy inventive word sandpaper to get it smoothed out.  
> As usual, lemme know if you've spotted misspellings, etc, because this is not beta'd. Also leave comments on the relationship dynamics because I do need feedback. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> "I plan on finishing this story as possible (like before July), so my updates should be regular-ish."
> 
> Oh, that optimistic summer child did not comprehend the true voracity this lil plot rat would have. WHich is kinda ironic considering the devastating impact rats can have on the local ecosystem and economy when not managed properly.
> 
> Tentative date for the last chapter should be (at the rate I'm currently writing at), before 2020 begins.
> 
> Anyways, a little fun fact that I learned in researching the character names;
> 
> de Rune: of, Old Nordish for "secret lore"  
> Fortier: Old French for "someone who lives near a stronghold"  
> LaPointe: French for "soldier"  
> Martel: Old French for "hammer", was another name for a blacksmith.


End file.
